


All I Want For Christmas

by adri_cakes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Holidays, Humor, M/M, Sex Toys, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adri_cakes/pseuds/adri_cakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Castiel discovers the true meaning of Christmas, and decides that the bunker could really use some more holiday spirit. </p>
<p>(Secret Santa fic for klytae)</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want For Christmas

“Well,” Dean says as he folds the piece of paper in his hands and stuffs it in his pocket, “That’s one off the list. Where to next?”

“I remember seeing a kitchen store somewhere, and we need more cooking stuff,” says Sam. He points through the crowds of holiday shoppers to something hanging on the wall up ahead. “We can check the mall directory over there.”

“Nah, we’ll find it eventually, let’s just keep walking this way.”

“You just want to go to the food court, don’t you?”

Dean sends a smirk to his brother in response. “I didn’t even get a chance to eat breakfast this morning, can you really blame me?”

“Only because you and Cas slept in until it was pretty much time to go. I told you last night to set your alarm to 8:30, because we needed to leave by 9:15 so we could get here before the crowds came in, and as it is we had to leave ten minutes later than planned, so I don’t really-“

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy. Besides, I did set my alarm, it’s just that me and Cas got a little... sidetracked. Isn’t that right, Ca… where’d Cas go?”

After a few seconds of frantic searching, Dean spots him about twenty feet behind. He’s standing in front of the giant Macy’s, peering through the glass with a small frown on his face.

As they approach him, Castiel asks, eyes not moving from the glass, “Why is there a twenty-five-foot tall tree in the middle of this store?”

It takes a few moments for Dean to realize what he’s talking about. “What, never seen a Christmas tree before?” Dean asks.

“I am somewhat familiar with the tradition,” he replies. Castiel leans forward and moves his head a few inches to the right before he narrows his eyes and adds, “Is it also traditional for a strangely attired large man with excessive facial hair to sit next to the tree whilst children are placed on his lap one after another by equally strangely attired people?”

Dean spots the man he’s referring to and isn’t sure whether to laugh or heave a long-suffering sigh. Luckily Sam cuts in.

“Don’t you know about Santa Claus?” When Cas fixes him with a blank stare, he continues. “Y’know, Santa, the guy who delivers presents to children all around the world on Christmas Eve while they’re sleeping. Keeps track of all the kids who’ve been naughty and nice that year and his elves work all year to make presents for the nice kids. He’s a big part of the holiday season, and a lot of malls hire Santas to ask kids what they want for Christmas.”

Castiel tilts his head slightly and regards Sam suspiciously. “He sounds like a very dangerous creature. I know of very few things that have the power to keep record of the morality of all the children in the world and deliver gifts to them all in a single night.” He turns to glare at the fake-Santa inside Macy’s. “But nonetheless he will most likely be killed if I smite him; I do not sense any substantial magic protecting him.”

“Whoa, whoa, Cas, no,” Sam interjects quickly, pulling the angel away from the doors and smiling apologetically to a passing mother who glares in their direction. “It’s just a legend, something kids are made to believe. It’s really just the parents who give them the presents and say they’re from Santa. That’s just some random guy in there being paid to act like Santa Claus.”

“Why would the parents lie to their children?”

“You know,” says Dean, “Part of the whole ‘Christmas cheer’ and all that.”

“I fail to understand why lying to children about a strange man with supposed supernatural powers is meant to celebrate the birth of Christ.”

Dean finally lets out the sigh he’s been holding in. “Sam, you deal with this. I’m gonna go grab a burger.”

~*~

Dean isn’t fully sure quite what to think when he returns, coca-cola in one hand and greasy cheeseburger in the other. Sam and Castiel are sitting on a wooden bench near the Macy’s. Sam’s eyes are lit up with ardor, and his hands are moving in sweeping gestures while he speaks to a wide-eyed Castiel, who replies with nods and awkward smiles and short questions that are just out of Dean’s hearing range, especially with the crowds of loud shoppers between. Castiel is turned fully toward Sam and looks a bit too curious and eager. Dean decides immediately to distrust the situation.

Castiel’s face brightens and his lips curve into a soft smile when he turns and spots Dean, successfully interrupting his thoughts. He grins in return and makes his way over, stopping to finish off and throw away his soda and burger. “So,” he says at last, “We understand the whole Christmas thing yet?”

“Yes, Sam has explained it very well. I think I now understand the importance of the ‘holiday cheer’ and its ability to unite people with celebration and merriment. I had always thought Christmas was only a religious observance, but I see now I was mistaken.” Castiel turns his attention to Macy’s again before continuing, “I think I would like to take a closer look at how to properly celebrate it. It seems people buy much of their décor and gifts from this store. Though… if you have other places in mind, I don’t wish to inconvenience you.”

Of course, it’s not like Dean really has a choice. Not with two sets of hazel and blue puppy-dog eyes staring up at him. Plus, he’d be lying to himself if he says he hadn’t thought about going to check out some Christmas stuff for the bunker anyway. Dean sighs and wipes his hand over his face. “Alright, but only because we can get some stuff from our list in here. I’m pretty sure they have a kitchen section, and we need more winter clothes, and they probably also… Cas, could you just w—“

The glass doors close shut behind Castiel’s figure. “Come on,” says Sam, “Just let him have his fun.”

Dean fixes him with a suspicious glare but doesn’t say anything as he follows him into the store.

Immediately they are surrounded by mannequins and ‘60% off’ signs and red and green everything and shopping carts everywhere and racks of clothes as far as the eye can see. A jazzy rendition of “Let it Snow” plays into the background, the music mostly covered up by noisy children and cash registers and sales clerks doing their best to sell their insane amounts of merchandise to frantic shoppers. It’s three stories tall, and right next to the escalators is a giant Christmas tree adorned with large red ornaments, gold ribbon, fake presents, and colored lights that blink on and off. The fake Santa Claus sits on a red and gold throne with white cottony snow while teenagers dressed in ridiculous-looking elf costumes tend to a line of about twenty small children waiting to tell Santa what they want for Christmas. Castiel appears entranced, looking around like he doesn’t even know where to begin. 

Dean ushers him and Sam to the men’s clothing department, located to their left. “So, we’re looking for good clothes for winter. The snow season’s beginning; we’ll need boots, heavy coats, some good jeans, that kind of thing. You especially, Cas, that hoodie of yours ain’t gonna cut it. So just look around until you find something you like. The dressing room’s over there if you want to try on anything. Don’t worry about the price too much, we got plenty of credit cards.”

Castiel nods as if he’s being assigned a very grave duty and treks into the sea of clothing racks.

“Think he’ll be alright on his own?” asks Sam.

“Eh, he’ll figure it out, he’s a big boy. We’ll check back on him in a bit. Now come on, I saw some nice flannels over by the shoes.”

Dean and Sam find Castiel about fifteen minutes later, after they’ve gotten a cart and put in a few warm flannel shirts and pairs of jeans. 

“Oh, good,” says Castiel when they approach. “You’re here. I found some winter clothing to my liking.” Without another word, he drops a good eight or nine sweaters into the cart. “I tried most of them on; they seemed quite comfortable.”

If they had been normal sweaters with simple designs, that would have been fine. But no. Cas had managed to pick out the most laughably atrocious winter and Christmas sweaters in the entire store. Dean takes them out of the cart and inspects them one by one, a sense of dread growing as he pulls out a black turtleneck with ‘Let it Snow!’ written in block letters, a red and green striped sweater, a blue knit with white snowflakes, one with a reindeer pattern, and a particularly cliche ugly black sweater with a snowman, reindeer, candy cane, stocking, and gingerbread man all sewn onto the front. When the sixth sweater turns out to be black with red accents and depicts Santa Claus riding his sleigh and reindeer over a town with the words ‘Santa Claus is Coming Tonight!’ in red cursive, with actual jingle bells on it, Dean just can’t take it anymore. 

“Cas,” he asks in the most patient voice he can muster, “What are these?”

Cas stares at him like Dean just asked what planet they were on. “Clothing for winter. You told me to find something I like, so I did. Are they… are they not suitable?”

“No, Cas, that’s not the problem, it’s just…” Dean spared a moment to glare at his brother, who was clearly trying desperately to hold in his laughter. “Seriously?” He gestures to the sweater he’s currently holding. “This one?”

Castiel’s lips form a frown, more of a pout really, as he snatches the sweater from Dean’s grasp and places it back in the cart. “I like that one. It’s festive, it fits well, it’s comfortable and warm, and I think we could use some long-sleeve shirts for the winter that aren’t plaid for once,” he says with a pointed look at the flannels at the bottom of the cart.

Dean admits to himself that he may have a point there. “Alright, fine, but let’s get a coat or two for you also. And a good pair of jeans.”

“Can we look at the decorations after that?” Cas asks hopefully. 

“Okay, yeah, sure,” Dean concedes.

They pick out the rest of the clothing while Castiel gazes longingly at the Christmas decor section, and when they finish the angel eagerly pulls the cart toward it. 

The second they get to the decoration section, Castiel pulls a snow globe off the first aisle and looks at it intently. It has tiny presents around its base, and inside is a miniature Christmas tree. “What function does this serve?”

“It’s a snow globe,” Sam supplies, lifting it out of Castiel’s grasp. “If you turn it over like this and back, it kinda makes it look like it’s snowing. Also most of them can play music if they have this thing at the bottom.”

“What kind of music?”

“Well, it’s sort of… here, I’ll just show you.” Sam winds up the snow globe and it plays a simple Jingle Bells tune. He then gives it back to Castiel, who cradles it in his hands reverently.

“I’ve always thought humans’ ability to create music with various objects was incredible,” says Cas. Without another word, he places it in the cart and gently wraps one of his sweaters around it. 

“Can I can help you with anything today?” A cheery clerk pops up out of the aisle next to them and beams at the three of them. She’s probably in her mid-twenties, wearing a form-fitting red uniform with a nametag labeled ‘Victoria’ and a Santa hat resting over her blonde curls. She’s probably the type Dean would’ve gone for a couple years back, but he promptly dismisses that thought.

Before Dean can open his mouth to politely refuse, Castiel says, “Yes, actually, that would be much appreciated. We’re trying to find some holiday decorations to put up in our home. Any help you could give us in finding anything appropriate would be great…” He squints at her nametag.

“Vicky!” she replies a bit too quickly. “My name’s Vicky. And you are…?”

“Castiel,” he replies, politely offering his hand to shake. He’s getting much better at basic social skills, Dean notes with a hint of pride. But then Vicky holds on to the handshake for a second too long, and Dean sees a blush rising on her cheeks and her eyes widening incrementally, and he consequently labels her ‘potential enemy’ in his mind.

“So,” she finally says, seeming to snap out of a daze, “What would you like help finding?”

“This is all quite new to me, actually, and I don’t know what people buy to celebrate Christmas nor the functions of them, so if you could inform me what sort of thing is typically purchased and how they should be used I would be grateful.”

Vicky turns to Sam and Dean looking slightly bewildered.

“He’s from, ah, Italy,” Sam says quickly. “And he’s never really had Christmas before.” 

She seems satisfied with the explanation, and her cheery smile slips back into place. “Oh, of course. Well, since it’s Christmas Eve, a lot of things are on sale and clearance already. Those sale items will be a bit farther in the back, if you’re concerned about price. The smaller decorations like snow globes and candles and figurines will be along this aisle right here, and then the next aisle’s mostly ornaments and tree decorations, and then in the following aisles are your bigger decorations to really spice up your house, like centerpieces and wreaths and garlands. There’s also of course stockings, candy… I’m a fan of our peppermint stuff, personally. Here, we can start in this aisle.”

Castiel picks up a nutcracker and examines it carefully. “What is this for?”

“Oh, that’s a nutcracker!” says Vicky. She leans close to Castiel and draws her hand to the back of the nutcracker, moving the wooden piece there to make its mouth open and close. She then smiles up at him a bit too sweetly and says, “Before electricity and stuff, people used them to crack open nuts, I think.”

He lightly pulls it away from her grip and tries moving it himself. “Why is it an exclusively Christmas-based object, then?” he asks blankly.

“I’m… not sure, actually,” she says with a slight frown.

“Actually,” says Sam, “It’s because they were used to crack open chestnuts, which is sort of a traditional food for Christmas.”

Vicky almost seems surprised by Sam’s interruption, as if she had forgotten he was there. “Oh, interesting,” she says, sounding relatively uninterested. “They make for great decorations, though,” she continues, turning back to Castiel. “And they do add a nice Christmas-y touch.”

Castiel places it in the cart and continues down the aisle, with Vicky on his heels babbling about everything on the shelves. 

“Hey Dean, you think we should go and get all the other stuff on the list?”

“What, and leave Cas with Santa’s little helper over here?”

“I know you’re enjoying glaring daggers at her, but we actually do need to finish this supply run, and by the looks of it, Cas is gonna be here a while regardless of whether we are or not.”

He considers this for a few seconds. Dean had kind of been looking forward to introducing Cas to all the Christmas stuff, and now he can’t help but be pissed off that this girl is taking that away from him. Sam is right, though; there are more things they need to pick up and they can’t hang around here all day. “I still don’t trust her.”

“Dean, I really doubt she’s much competition for you and Cas. We can go and get the rest of what we need, come back, and if Cas isn’t done yet we can help him. It’s really not that difficult.”

Dean sighs. “Fine. But I still don’t like it.” He pulls out his wallet and walks over to Castiel, who seems to be listening to an explanation of how stockings are related to Christmas. “Hey, Cas,” he interrupts, satisfied by the annoyed look Vicky sends him, “Me and Sam are gonna go finish up the other shopping. If you finish before we get back, use this credit card to buy whatever you want. You remember me telling you how to use it, right?” Castiel glances down at the credit card and nods, taking it from Dean and putting it it in his back pocket. Dean suddenly gets an idea that he can’t refuse. “Great,” he says, and then slides a hand up Castiel’s jaw and places a quick kiss on his lips. “Don’t overdo yourself, okay?”

Castiel nods and quietly says, “Of course not, Dean,” and then Dean’s walking toward Bed, Bath, & Beyond with Sam in tow, unable to stop laughing to himself about the utterly dumbfounded look on Vicky’s face.

~*~

“Was all this really necessary?” Dean asks for the sixth time.

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel sighs for the sixth time, “It was. And is.”

“But did there really have to be so much that there is a bag poking into my leg as we speak?”

There is, in fact, a Macy’s bag filled with statues and ornaments tucked under the driver’s side chair. There are also three bags under the passenger seat and two on Sam’s lap. The trunk, needless to say, is filled to the point at which they had to try three times before it finally closed shut. Castiel in the backseat is practically buried in a flood of bags and boxes, though he hardly seems to even notice, judging by the blank look he gives Dean through the rear-view mirror. Dean is still shocked that they somehow got everything in the car, but he suspects some angel mojo might have been involved.

When the angel in question doesn’t reply, Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to the road in front of him. “My baby’s gonna smell like peppermint and wreaths for weeks,” he grumbles to no one in particular.

They drive in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the Kansas landscape fly by them. The scenery is remarkably nice for winter. The hills to each side of the road are brimming with trees; their wiry brown branches extend and reach out toward the cold white sun and azure sky. A light layer of snow coats the ground around them, though the road seems to have been recently cleared off.

Castiel is the first to speak. “Victoria was telling me that most radio stations play Christmas-themed music around this time of year.”

Dean barely stops himself from groaning. “God, you have no idea. Even the classic rock station starts playing that Mariah Carey crap.”

“Dean, I think he’s saying he wants to listen to some Christmas music.”

A nod from Castiel confirms Sam’s theory.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Dean heaves a sigh. “We are not playing crappy radio Christmas music in here. Remember the rule? Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.”

“But, Dean,” Cas argues, “Sam’s riding shotgun. I’m in the backseat. Wouldn’t that mean the rule doesn’t apply in this case?”

Dean pauses.

“He has a point, you know,” says Sam. The traitor.

“I really hate you both sometimes, you know that? And why the hell are you so gung-ho about Christmas now, anyway?”

Castiel looks almost hurt by Dean’s words, which immediately short-circuits Dean’s brain, because, wait, what?

“I only thought that we could all celebrate something together,” the angel says morosely. He looks down and picks idly at the sleeves of his ridiculous red-and-black Santa sweater. “This is the first time in months… closer to years, actually, that we’ve all been together in non-contentious circumstances. And especially since Sam said you weren’t able to properly celebrate Christmas throughout your childhood, and since none of us are under the control of angels any longer, I thought we could all use the festivity and merriment to… to perhaps make us a family again.”

Sam is glaring at Dean with that pointed “you hurt his feelings” look and Cas is still looking down as if unable to meet Dean’s eyes, so Dean really has no other choice but to accept his fate and turn on the radio and find a station playing stupid Christmas music. And since God apparently hates him, the first thing that blasts through the speakers is Mariah Carey’s voice singing “Make my wish come true, baby all I want for Christmas is you!” 

Dean’s just about ready to drive off into the frozen river a little ways off the road, but then he glances in the rear-view mirror and sees Cas smiling almost shyly up at him, so he decides to endure the awful, overly pop-y and jazzy renditions of stereotypical Christmas songs for the remaining twenty minutes back to Lebanon. And if he ends up singing to a few of them along the way, nobody says a word about it.

~*~

A few hours later, most of the decorations are put up all around the bunker. Wreaths hang on several doors throughout the house, adorned with ribbons and pine cones and candy canes. The shelves in the kitchen are filled with snow globes and small figurines of everything Christmas-related, from Rudolph to the birth of Jesus Christ. Practically every room has at least one peppermint-scented candle lit inside of it, and there seem to be candy canes everywhere for no real practical reason. The sofas all have new pillows and cushions with sewn holiday designs. The main room has paper cutout snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, and small fake flower arrangements with poinsettias rest in the center of the tables. Then there are a few wicker reindeer, red and gold bows on the walls, a couple of plates of fudge and cookies, and a small angel statue that Dean has teased Cas about relentlessly. 

The three of them work in tandem for a while, digging through the bags and putting up the decorations wherever they see fit. They had managed to find a record of old Christmas music in the Men of Letters’ collection that was surprisingly nice to listen to. The music flows through the rooms as they work, and Dean has found himself humming along or tapping his foot to the rhythm on more than one occasion.

They get near the end of their sixth bag, and Sam opens up the next one. He peruses its contents and pulls out two large red ornaments, scrutinizing them. “How are we gonna use this many ornaments if we don’t have a tree to put them on? I guess we can figure out a way to make decorations out of them, but it’ll be a bit-”

The telltale sound of wings interrupts him, and just like that Castiel disappears without a trace. Dean and Sam both stare at the empty space he had just occupied moments ago, and Dean just has time to roll his eyes and open his mouth to make a snarky comment before the angel suddenly reappears at the other side of the room. With an eight foot tall Christmas tree upright at his side. “I meant to get it a bit earlier, but I got distracted with the other decor,” he explains. “I’ll just… put it here?” He shuffles nervously, waiting for an answer.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Dean says, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that they actually have a Christmas tree now. He’s never actually had a full-on, real Christmas tree before. The most he ever got was that crappy little two-and-a-half-foot fake tree with air fresheners as ornaments, in that motel room with Sam the year before he got dragged down to Hell. And now there was a legitimate tree standing in their library along with an entire bag of decorations to put on it. Huh.

Then he looks over at his brother and sees that Sam must be thinking the same thing. He seems completely rapt as he stares up at the tree; his eyes are as bright as Dean has ever seen them, and he just looks so utterly happy for the first time in months that Dean has to fight the urge to go over and wrap his arms around his brother. Instead, he reaches up to pat Sammy’s shoulder and says, “Have at it, little brother,” with a glance toward the bag of ornaments. “Me and Cas’ll go finish off the other bag, you can go ahead and start on the tree.”

He and Castiel go into the next room and take out everything that’s left in the other bag. Dean starts working on placing a garland on top of a bookshelf while Castiel lights the fireplace with a flick of his hand and holds up a stocking above it. 

A question has been festering and poking at Dean’s mind since this whole thing started, and it’s hard to ignore now, especially after witnessing the effect this Christmas thing has had on him and Sam. He figures if he doesn’t ask, it’ll become one of those constant itches under his skin, and he probably has enough of those in his life already.

“Hey, Cas, you do realize we’re gonna have to put away all this crap the day after tomorrow, right?” 

“Putting them away will hardly be a chore, Dean. If you’re that concerned I can just use some of my power to transport them all into storage.”

“No, man, that’s not the point- I mean...” Dean tries to piece together how to say it. “Doesn’t it seem weird to just, I don’t know, go through all the effort of buying all this and getting all excited just to use it for a total of two days, doesn’t it?”

Castiel turns and assesses him. “Well, I would assume they’ll be used in future years as well.”

Dean snorts disdainfully. “Yeah, ‘cause I’m sure you’ll still be here to hang up wreaths and buy candy canes by then, right?” The words come out far less trivial and a lot more pathetic-sounding than he had intended. He avoids Cas’s gaze, hunches his shoulders in, and fumbles with the placement of his garland. His hand bumps into one of the small ornaments on the garland, and the glass ball bounces off the wood and hits the floor. The resulting shatter leaves the air heavy with silence.

Dean stares down at the broken glass while Castiel walks over to him, kneels by the shards, and begins to collect them one by one. “Of course I will be, Dean.” Once most of the shards are in his left palm, Castiel places his right hand over them. A faint glow emits between his fingers for a few seconds until he draws his hand back to reveal a perfectly repaired glass ball. He looks up, and blue eyes lock onto Dean’s. “I don’t plan on leaving again for a very long time, as long as you and Sam permit me to stay.”

Dean swallows down a lump in his throat and parts his lips, but he can’t seem to find anything to say. Castiel smiles gently at him, then stands to his full height and pulls Dean into a warm albeit brief kiss. As they pull apart the ornament is placed back into Dean’s hand. Cas returns to the fireplace and resumes his work of hanging up the last stocking. “We’d best get back to Sam. Doubtless, he’ll soon start getting suspicious of our whereabouts.”

It’s not until Castiel is leaving the room that Dean’s head clears a bit. “Yeah,” he finally croaks, throat drier than he had expected. He clears his throat, then reattaches the glass ball to the garland before stepping back and checking to make sure it’s even. “Okay.”

The tree is half finished by the time Dean returns. Castiel is hanging glass icicles while Sam stands on a chair to decorate the tallest part of the tree. Dean finds the strands of lights, takes them out of their box, and starts the process of untangling them and wrapping them around the tree. The three of them work well together, and they make quick work of the giant bag of decorations. The last thing to be put on is the angel topper; the role is wordlessly given to Sam, him being the absurdly tall human being he is. Dean is sorely tempted to use one of the seven or eight one-liners he has reserved for this specific occasion, but Cas is giving him that look that says ‘Dean Winchester I will smite you where you stand if you so much as dare’, so he keeps his mouth shut. 

Once they step back to admire their work, Dean plugs in the lights. Hundreds of tiny little white lights turn on at once, and every single red ball, glass icicle, crystal ornament, and other weird decoration they have on there seems to sparkle and illuminate the room. It’s stunning. It’s practically a Christmas tree from one of those meaningful family movies where the family comes together and they all settle their differences and celebrate the holidays together then live happily ever after. And really, the way things are going right now, that doesn’t sound too far off.

~*~

That evening is spent as every Christmas Eve evening should be spent: sitting on a couch, drinking eggnog, and watching old classic Christmas movies. They first watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, though the experience is somewhat lessened by Castiel’s strong assertions that it would be genetically impossible to have a glowing nose. Sam retires to bed shortly after, because recently he’s turned into one of those unnatural people who go to bed at 9 p.m. every night. 

Cas insists that he wants to watch more of them, as he had found Rudolph to be a very inspiring and heart-warming tale about the complexities of social hierarchy and overcoming its difficulties. Cas could probably relate to feeling like the odd-one-out and being unlike his peers.

They decide to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas next. The old cartoon one, not the really weird newer one. Castiel doesn’t talk as much throughout this movie, only asking an occasional question for clarification. He seems to get strangely invested in the movie, especially with Whoville and its cheery occupants and their love and spirit for Christmas. 

Dean, for his part, isn’t so much watching the movie as drinking eggnog, eating a plate of chocolates, and watching Cas’s profile. His eyes look really blue right now, lit up from the flickering images on the television screen. Ever since he became an angel again, he’s back to having that perpetual stubble along his jaw and the dark hair that manages to look tousled and neat at the same time, instead of the dirty and scruffy hair he had during his time as a human. Dean really likes it the way it is now.

He doesn’t realize he’s scooted over and and started touching Castiel’s hair until fingers touch his wrist and Cas’s voice asks, “Dean, what are you doing?”

It’s mostly likely due to the eggnog, but Dean feels inexplicably warm and his head is just the slightest bit fuzzy. He’s not quite drunk, but he feels lighter and looser than normal. He hums in response to Cas’s question and buries his face into the angel’s neck. When he inhales he smells that strange combination of earth and starlight unique to Castiel. “You smell nice,” he mumbles.

Cas’s fingers drop from Dean’s wrist and instead push gently at Dean’s shoulder. “This is a very important scene, Dean, I’m trying to watch.”

Dean turns his head to look at the screen. It’s the scene where the Grinch and his dog are riding through snow banks on their sleigh stacked with presents, going to return Christmas to Whoville. Castiel seems very intent on watching it with his undivided attention, and his gaze never wavers from the screen. This annoys Dean for some reason, and he takes it as a challenge.

He sits still for a few seconds, head resting between Cas’s neck and shoulder, before pressing a kiss into the base of Cas’s neck. He waits for a reaction, but Cas’s focus remains on the movie. Dean switches to his next tactic and begins to suck lightly at the skin and graze it with his teeth. He then moves up an inch and does the same there, and again, making his way up Cas’s neck with open-mouthed kisses interspersed with teasing bites. 

“Dean,” Cas breathes, most likely meant as a warning but coming out shakily. Dean smirks into Cas’s skin and continues his work. He licks a long line up the side of his rough jaw and sucks his earlobe into his mouth, flicking at it with his tongue. 

“Dean, the plot is coming to its resolution, the movie will no doubt be over in ten minutes or less, can’t you wait till then?”

Dean draws back an inch. “Why should I?” he pouts. Then a slow smile stretches across his face. “What’re you gonna do, put me on your naughty list?”

“Something like that. Now shush.”

Dean grumbles his disapproval but does as he’s bid. He sits up so that their sides are pressed together, but does nothing and watches the screen. Now the Grinch is returning all the decorations and presents to the town of Whoville, and all the Whos are rejoicing. 

That lasts for all of fifteen seconds before he devises a new plan.

In a single swift movement, he sits up and swings his leg around so that he’s straddling Castiel’s lap, puts his hands on either side of his face, and kisses him messily. When all he gets in reply is a muffled “Dean-” be starts to nibble at Cas’s bottom lip and run his tongue over it. That seems to finally get a reaction; Cas’s hands grip at Dean’s biceps and his mouth opens up with a low moan that sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. 

He moves his hands down from Cas’s face to the bottom of his sweater, lifting it up slightly and stroking his thumbs along his sharp hipbones. Cas pushes forward into their kiss and slides his tongue across Dean’s enticingly, then brings one of his hands to Dean’s hair, twisting and pulling and petting. In the background the Whos of Whoville are singing their Christmas song, but the sound is ignored in favor of the wet sounds of their lips moving together and the long shaky breaths shared between them. 

By the time Dean has to pull away for breath, the movie is ending and the credits are starting to roll. Satisfaction blooms in him and he smirks down at Castiel, who seems caught between frustration and amusement. 

“You’re absolutely insufferable, you know that?”

“Mm,” he hums, leaning down to rest their foreheads together, “Keep talkin’ dirty to me, babe.”

Cas rolls his eyes (another habit he’s picked up from Dean) and crashes their lips back together. On reflex Dean grabs at Cas’s shirt, and only when it jingles does he remember that he’s wearing that god-awful Santa sweater. He groans, half because it’s probably the most un-sexy piece of clothing ever invented, and half because Cas has gotten really good at kissing as of late. Cas seems to take a hint when Dean starts pulling at it, because Dean blinks to find that they’re suddenly in his bedroom, and Cas is pushing him down onto the bed and grinding their hips together.

“No offense, Cas, but it’s kinda difficult to get all hot and heavy when you’re wearing that thing.”

“Not that difficult, evidently,” he replies, then brushes his fingers between Dean’s legs to prove his point. 

Dean shudders. “Just take the damn thing off already.”

For a second Dean’s worried Cas is going to keep the sweater on just to spite him, but he concedes by pulling the sweater over his head and tossing it on the bed next to them. “Better?”

“Much better.” Dean allows himself a moment to admire the bare skin in front of him, then launches forward and licks and bites at his collarbone and uses his hands to explore Cas’s muscular torso. Soon enough Cas gets impatient and starts pulling at Dean’s flannel, luckily already unbuttoned, and tries to lift the fabric off his arms and get him out of the sleeves, but in the process ends up trapping Dean’s arms in them. 

“Cas would you just- fuck it, I’ll do it myself, hang on.” Dean scoots back on the bed from under Cas and pulls off the flannel, followed by the t-shirt underneath, and after a moment of consideration shimmys out of his jeans and socks as well and throws them all on the floor. By the time he’s done Cas has done the same, and they’re finally both down to boxers. He’s relieved to see that at least Cas didn’t have on any holiday-themed underwear. He had been afraid of that.

Apparently Cas decides to take the wheel, because he grasps Dean’s wrists and holds them firmly into the bed by his sides and starts using his tongue to lick paths down Dean’s chest, painting circles and curves into the skin and paying special attention to his nipples as he trails over them. Then he goes further down, over his abdomen and belly button, nipping softly at the flesh there, before teasing his tongue above the waistline of his boxers. Dean’s breathing becomes labored and harsh as he watches Cas take hold of the elastic between his teeth and pull it down millimeter by millimeter… then release it and allow it to snap back into place. He groans in frustration, but then warm breath is ghosting over hardened flesh through a layer of thin cotton, and Dean’s probably going to die if the teasing doesn’t stop soon.

Then suddenly the warmth is gone and Dean’s arms are free and there’s a rustling coming from the foot of the bed, and Dean looks to see Cas pulling up a plastic bag and placing it at the side of the bed. 

“Cas?”

“Hm?”

“What’s that?”

Cas licks his lips and glances away. “I may have purchased some recreational items at the mall today for our use.”

Dean narrows his eyes and raises himself on his elbows. “And by that you mean…”

“The clerk assured me they were of high quality, and I just thought we could explore some new options and experience what sort of thing we like while we’re fornicating.”

“How many times have I told you to not use the word ‘fornicate,’ especially while we’re in the middle of it? Normal people say ‘fuck.’ Come on, Cas, try it, just once.”

Cas ignores him and instead kisses him to quiet him. “If you dislike what I bought we can throw them away, but I would really like to give you a pleasurable experience to begin Christmas day with, so if you’ll allow me…”

Dean sends one final suspicious glance at the bag, then submits and lies back down on the bed. He barely has time to wonder where exactly Cas had managed to find sex stuff at the mall before his boxers are yanked down to his knees and there’s a warm wet mouth around the length of his cock. Dean cries out in surprise and pleasure and has to force his hips to stay still and resist thrusting up into Castiel’s amazing mouth. Cas bobs up and down a few times, practically deepthroating him, but then he pulls back and starts lapping gently at the head and teasing his fingers around the base. Dean’s mind becomes completely blank except for thoughts of yesyesyes and moremorepleasemore. Apparently some of these thoughts slip out of his mouth because then Cas is chuckling and kissing lightly all over Dean’s leaking cock. “Patience, Dean, I’ll give you what you need.”

He hears the pop of a cap, and within seconds there’s a lubricated finger trailing down toward his hole and circling around it gently, tantalizingly, but never quite pushing in like it really needs to already. When the finger finally starts to breach, Dean takes a quick inhale, and catches a whiff of peppermint. He’s confused for a moment, but then he realizes.

“Cas, please tell me you did not buy peppermint-flavored lube.”

“I did not buy peppermint-flavored lube.”

“Are you just saying that because I told you to?”

Cas is silent. 

“I get you’re into the whole Christmas thing, man, but really?”

Cas frowns at him and he just looks so confused, like a dog trying to figure out why his owner is scolding him, that Dean gives it up and flops his head back on the bed and spreads his legs a tiny bit wider, and as an afterthought finishes kicking his boxers off his legs and onto the floor somewhere. It doesn’t take long before lips are pressing against the inside of his thigh, perhaps in apology or thanks or simple affection, and a slick finger is pushing inside him once again. 

It always feels a little bit strange at first, but he adjusts to the intrusion fairly quickly, especially with Cas continuing to kiss up and down his inner thigh and murmur little encouragements into the skin. After a minute or two the finger disappears, only to return momentarily with a second lubricated finger with it. They push in slowly but without much resistance, and Dean lets out a steady breath as they work their way in as far as they can go. They set up a rhythm of drawing out slowly and slamming back in, moving faster and faster and twisting and scissoring as they go until Dean’s a whining mess and begging for Cas to get on with it.

When the fingers are gone and Dean hears the pop of the lube bottle again, he’s expecting Cas’s cock to finally get inside him, so he really can’t be blamed for being a bit surprised when an unfamiliar object starts prodding at his ass.

“Wow, Cas, you really went all out, didn’t you?”

Clearly Dean isn’t the only one to notice the hint of trepidation in his voice. “Sshhh,” Cas soothes, running a hand up and down his thigh and pressing a kiss to the inside of his knee, “Just trust me. You can always tell me if it’s uncomfortable or you want me to stop.” 

Dean swallows his worries down and relaxes his body. “Okay.”

Cas smiles and kisses his mouth tenderly, then pushes the object in with small thrusts until it’s fully inside Dean, stretching his hole with a slight burn. It’s larger than his fingers but not as big as Castiel’s cock, and its surface is smooth and flexible and well-lubricated. He thrusts it in and out a few times, going in easier each time, until Dean finally decides that it’s not that bad after all and he closes his eyes and just allows himself to feel the sensations. 

Then, suddenly, the object starts to vibrate, and Dean lets out a startled gasp that morphs into a long moan when it applies pressure to just the right spot. 

“Is it okay? Do you need me to stop?”

“Don’t you dare,” he growls in response. He hears Cas huff in amusement and then the setting on the vibrator is turned up and everything is amplified at once, and Dean loses any remaining trains of thought he had. 

He can’t even move; he just lies there and takes it as Cas lazily pushes the vibrator in and out. It brushes Dean’s prostate with every few thrusts, eliciting whimpers and moans every time it happens. He didn’t even think it could be stimulated to this extent, but the intense pleasure that washes through him every few seconds proves him wrong on that. Dean opens his eyes to see Castiel’s blue eyes staring down at him intently with laser focus, watching him like an intriguing science experiment to be studied extensively, and that alone brings him dangerously close to coming then and there.

“Cas,” he breathes, “stop, I can’t-”

As soon as the word ‘stop’ is said, the vibrator is turned off and removed and Cas is holding the sides of his face, looking as worried as Dean’s ever seen him. “Are you okay? Am I causing you any pain?”

“No, Cas,” he says, pushing Cas’s hands from his face and trying to sort through his sex-hazed mind for something to say that will dispel his worry, “No, that’s not it, just… hurry up, would you? I don’t want to come with that thing up my ass.”

Cas’s worry only shifts to confusion. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Dean sighs, and decides to just demonstrate what he means. He sits up, reaches over, and grabs that stupid bottle of peppermint lube and squeezes a generous amount onto his right hand. “Take those off, will you?” he says with a nod toward Cas’s boxers. He looks even more confused than before but complies nonetheless, and the second Castiel is finally fully naked, Dean pushes him down on the bed with one hand and rubs the lube all over his rock-hard cock with the other, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back in pleasure. 

Dean uses the remaining lube on his hand to shove three fingers inside himself, making sure he’s stretched enough, then climbs over Castiel and lines himself up. He bites his lip as he eases down onto his cock carefully, inch by inch; the vibrator definitely loosened him up but even so it’s a stretch. Castiel’s pupils are dilated to the point where there’s hardly any blue left and his breathing is ragged, but he’s clearly restraining himself so as to not hurt Dean. Once he’s fully seated Dean rises up and pushes down a few more times until he’s able to pick up the pace and slide in with little resistance. When he deems himself ready, he leans down, puts his mouth right by Castiel’s ear, and whispers, “Come on, Cas, just hurry up and fuck me already.”

With angelic speed Cas flips them around and forces Dean on his hands and knees, lines himself up behind Dean, and sheathes himself inside once again with a sharp thrust. The new angle causes his cock to slam straight into Dean’s prostate, causing Dean to make what is probably the most wanton, porn-worthy moan he’s ever made in his life. Cas wastes no time in setting up a near-brutal pace, slamming into him again and again. It’s times like these when Dean is reminded that Castiel is a creature with a thousand times the strength of any man, and not just the baby in a trenchcoat he usually sees him as. Cas starts licking and biting at Dean’s shoulders and neck while he fucks him, doubtless leaving several red marks that will remain there for days. The bites get sharper and harsher along with his thrusts into Dean’s body, and he simultaneously starts pinching and twisting Dean’s nipples harshly until the pain mixes with the pleasure and Dean can’t even tell them apart anymore. One hand resumes its torturous work while the other travels down his chest and between his legs and starts touching and stroking Dean’s cock teasingly. Dean can feel his release building quickly, and he’s powerless to stop it.

“Cas, I’m- I’m close,” he manages. In place of a reply, Cas pounds into Dean’s body relentlessly so that Dean’s scared for a moment that the headboard will break against the wall, then he closes his fist around Dean’s cock and starts to jack him in earnest. He barely makes it a few seconds before pleasure completely overcomes him and he lets go, his white-hot release taking over his body and blacking out his vision for several seconds. Cas follows shortly after, thrusting inside Dean as far as he can go before spilling inside him. 

They stay in their position and simply breathe for a few moments, before Castiel pulls out with a wince and disappears for a half-second to return holding a damp towel. _One of the many perks of an angel boyfriend,_ Dean muses before flopping down on the bed. In reality he could probably just touch a finger to Dean’s forehead and clean him off that way, but he said once that he enjoys the intimacy of doing it himself. Not that Dean minds; the cool cloth feels nice on his overheated skin as it wipes off the sweat and semen and lube from his body. 

When Cas is done, he settles down with his chest to Dean’s back and an arm thrown over his side. “So, you enjoyed your present, I gather?”

Dean’s too out of it in his post-orgasmic bliss to argue or say no, so he just hums his agreement and snuggles back into the warmth of Castiel’s body. His breathing finally settles and he slowly feels himself come down and return to reality. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he loves being wrapped up in Cas’s arms; it gives him that feeling of safety and protection and love that he’s never allowed himself to want. He knows that the world is a seriously messed-up place with evil everywhere and something trying to kill him at every turn, but here, bundled up in an angel’s arms and away from everything, he can pretend for a minute that the outside world doesn’t exist.

He cracks open his eyes and catches a glimpse of black and red. Only when he looks closer at it does he see Castiel’s beloved ugly sweater still crumpled on the bed, with globs of come on it.

Dean can’t help it; he bursts out laughing at the beautiful irony of it. He can’t seem to stop himself, and Castiel looks utterly befuddled. “Dean, are… are you alright?”

“Well,” he manages to say between laughs, and points at the sweater, “It looks like Santa wasn’t the only thing coming tonight, I’ll tell you that much.” He dissolves into another fit of laughter.

Castiel frowns and squints at the sweater and at first Dean wonders if he’s genuinely upset, but then he huffs out a small laugh and shakes his head. 

“That was an awful joke, Dean.”

“Dude, that was fucking hilarious, you kidding me? The very height of Winchester humor, right there.”

Castiel sighs and lies back down on the bed, dragging Dean down with him. The lights click off. “Go to sleep.”

Dean relaxes back into Castiel’s warmth and pulls the covers up over them both, and feels himself drifting off toward sleep with a pleasant feeling in his gut. Maybe Cas’s way of doing Christmas isn’t so bad after all. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

Castiel gently kisses the spot below Dean’s ear and wraps his arm tighter around him. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”


End file.
